


Seven Weeks On Warped

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill said it would fuck everything up. He was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Weeks On Warped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



It was like life just stopped for a while when tours start: everyone said goodbye to friends and girlfriends and family and tried to make sure that life wouldn't catch up to them on the road. From the second they stepped on the tour bus, time froze. Only the state names changed.

It sounded like a song Bill would write, probably had written at some point in time. Mike thought about telling him that, in the back of the bus, the first night of tour when they decided they needed to talk about the set list. Instead it turned into a celebration and then things got out of hand.

He was drunk, and so was Bill, and it was easy to forget about all the things they'd promised each other — that it was better for the band if they didn't, that the few times in the apartment hadn't counted because that was fucking in the name of creative process, and that they were done with it now. Bill had a way of sprawling out that made Mike want to touch him, which made him want to kiss him, and it went on from there.

They tried to keep it quiet, as much as they could. Outside Tom and Butcher were taking bets on when they were going to start the set tomorrow, and Mike absolutely did not want anyone walking in when his thigh was in between Bill's legs, Bill riding hard against the denim. Bill bit into his shoulder and Mike was grateful for it, because Bill got loud when he was enjoying himself. Once he was back under control, Bill jacked him off fast and rough, murmuring softly in his ear. Mike pressed his forehead into Bill's arm and sighed.

"This was a mistake," Bill told him afterwards. "It's going to fuck everything up."

"Stop thinking for two seconds," Mike said. "I'll get the Febreze if you clean up the beer."

Bill frowned at him, and Mike knew he wasn't going to stop thinking no matter what Mike said, but he started grabbing paper towels to mop up spilled booze while Mike Febrezed for all he was worth to cover the smell of come. They didn't say anything else.

Afterwards, lying in his bunk, he poked gently at the mark on his shoulder, a crescent-shaped bruise in the shape of Bill's mouth, feeling it throb in the dark.

*****

They played a set in the afternoon the first full day of Warped. Mike knew something was wrong even before they hit the stage. Bill had holed up in his bunk until the very last second, even with Tony practically pulling out the cattle prod, and then when they were actually backstage he spent the time staring into space.

They still did the pre-show pep talk, sticking their hands into a circle and shouting all for one and one for all. Probably to anyone looking in it would have seemed like nothing had happened.

Bill caught his eye before Mike followed the rest of the band onstage, and Mike stopped in his tracks. He thought, just for a second, that Bill was going to say either that he was right or that he was wrong, something, but then Bill just didn't say anything.

He looked pleadingly at Mike with his mouth shut, and Mike felt like he was meant to say something but he didn't know what it was. He felt like he was supposed to guess somehow, look into Bill's brain and pull the words out, and he had never been good at that. It was the kind of thing where he could get it wrong no matter what he said, and he hated that once again Bill was making him guess what he was supposed to do, and how shitty his timing was. He absolutely didn't want to get caught up in Beckett theatrics right before he was meant to play a show.

He said, "You got something to say?" and then turned around, leaving Bill behind. He walked on stage, slung the guitar over his shoulder and stared down at the strings, waiting for Bill to make his entrance. Bill walked on stage and didn't look at him once.

The way they'd always dealt with things was to continue on like everything was normal.

*****

He thought they were both doing a pretty good job of pretending the other person didn't exist, more or less. There were enough other people around to provide a buffer between him and Bill. Then Mike wandered into the barbecue and the first thing he saw Bill standing apart from everyone else. He was talking to Travis, waving his beer animatedly. Travis looked affectionately tolerant, hand resting on the small of Bill's back. Mike had forgotten about Travis being here too.

It wouldn't have been so bad if things had been like they were before, with Gym Class being the guys they'd looked to for life on the road tips, or just as guys who would always promise a fun night out. Except Bill had just recorded Seven Weeks and had sent Mike about a thousand emails raving about Travis and how talented he was and how this song would totally blow everyone's minds. It didn't quite reach the heights of Bill's Gabe Saporta crush, but it was right up there.

He needed a drink.

While he was standing in line, someone crept up behind him and stood there staring at the back of his neck; he felt in his gut that it was Tom, because Tom had never gotten the hang of saying hello.

Mike turned around. Tom blinked at him. Mike said, "Hey."

"Hey," Tom said. "So what's that all about?" He jerked his head in Bill's direction.

Bill was shaking his head, then tossing a beer can at the recycling bin. Travis was already pressing another drink into his hand.

"I dunno," Mike said. "I'm not gonna ask."

"Oh," Tom said. "How's the beer?"

Bill was touching Travis' hand, standing on tiptoe to say something in his ear. Mike said, "What?"

"Uh," Tom said. "The beer?"

"Haven't got it yet."

"Oh. Okay," Tom said, and fell into line.

*****

When the schedule allowed, Bill joined in on Gym Class' set for Seven Weeks, and Travis started coming up to sing Crazy during their set. It was something that just seemed to happen.

Mike knew their show was basically the Beckett show, and he was used to that. But it was the Beckett and McCoy show now, twice a day, and it only added up to maybe ten minutes out of twenty-four hours, but it was taking over his life.

He knew it shouldn't. Bill was handsy on stage, always, leaning against Mike's back, sharing Tom's mic, cheek pressed up against Tom's. That was his thing.

Except it had started with Bill introducing Travis as 'our friend from Gym Class Heroes,' and then it had turned into 'our brother Travis McCoy,' and then finally 'my boy Travis McCoy.' And now he was leaning on Travis, Travis' hand around his hip, Bill's hair getting into Travis' mouth, and when Travis finished the bridge and went to walk off, Bill would practically fly into his arms.

Mike didn't know what the hell he thought he was doing, and he didn't give a shit, anyway. Bill and Travis could fuck in the middle of the stage for all he cared.

Bill took off for Gym Class' bus as soon as the set was finished and when he came back, if he came back at all, he was drunk and looking for a fight, banging things around and talking loud. Mike tried to burrow into his bunk as much as he could, ignoring Siska and Butcher standing outside, asking, "What the fuck's going on, Carden?"

He wanted to sleep through the rest of the tour, just close his eyes and get away from heat and dust and boredom and loneliness. Reality couldn't come back soon enough.

*****

They got one of the last sets of the night, and all Mike wanted was to finish playing, grab a beer and get back to the bus. He tried to take a different route from Bill to the barbecue; Bill had started drinking sometime in the early afternoon, and he could barely slur his way through the songs, and if Mike thought about it too much he was going to have to go and punch him for a while.

He still wound up stuck in line with Bill waiting for a stupid plate of ribs. He would have thought that Bill would be hanging out with Travis, but on second thought, there was a good chance that Travis was probably even more fucked up than Bill at this point and probably passed out somewhere. That was just fine with Mike.

The only good thing was that Bill seemed as determined to ignore him as he was to ignore Bill. He was deep in conversation with one of the guys from Alexisonfire.

Then before Mike could grab his plate and wander off, Bill waited until the other guy had finished talking about recording in Ontario and then said, very pleasantly, "Now I'm going to tell you all the things I don't like about you."

"Um," the other guy said.

"The first thing is –"

"We're going now," Mike said. He put his plate down and grabbed Bill's shoulder. "Going now."

"I'm not _finished_ ," Bill said, yanking his arm back.

"Yeah, you are." He pulled Bill out of line and started going back towards the bus.

"So _now_ he deigns to speak to me," Bill said. "Or do you want to give me the silent treatment now, too? How's it working for you, Carden?"

"Later," Mike said. He couldn't afford to let Bill push his buttons right now. Right now all he wanted was to get his stupid drunk idiot of a lead singer back to the bus before he got killed. "We're going to the bus."

"I'm not going to your stupid bus. I want to go to another bus."

"Too bad."

"I told you it would fuck things up," Bill said. "I said so and I was right. I was right because you can't ever tell me you care or anything."

"Shut _up_ ," Mike said.

"I'll talk when I want to talk!"

"Fuck you and your drama queen bullshit," Mike said. "You're going to shut up and then you're going to get on the bus and then you can go to hell."

Bill jerked backwards, and Mike lost his balance, falling against the side of one of the buses. He let go. Bill sat down on the ground and folded his legs under him, mouth set in a stubborn line.

"If we have to stay here all night, I'll fuckin' do it," Mike said. "Just because you think it's cute to be an asshole doesn't mean shit to me."

"Oh, you're one to talk about being an asshole," Bill said. "Go away. Leave me alone."

Mike dropped down to his knees and grabbed Bill's shoulders.

"Go ahead and punch me," Bill said. "If it'll make you feel better."

"I bet you'd love me to do that," Mike hissed. "Fuckin' martyr."

"I bet you'd love me to do this," Bill said and kissed him.

It was sour breath and teeth against his lips, Bill's fingers digging into the scruff of his neck, and Mike thought for a crazy minute that he'd do it. He'd fuck Bill on the ground, he'd fuck him dry, until he was sobbing and every single person on the tour knew about it.

Except then he realized that Bill would just wind up hating him even more than he already did, and it wasn't worth satisfying his pride over.

Mike jerked away. "Not this way," he said, and stood up. Bill stared up at him. His knees were covered in dirt and gravel.

"Hope you remember where the bus is," Mike said.

*****

He woke up to his phone buzzing. The notification said that the text was from Travis. What it said was: _there's a sushi place here and i think we should get our beast on. Meet me on main street._.

First he thought it couldn't be right. Then he thought that Travis was near the top of the list of people he didn't want to see right now. The only problem was that Bill had been drunkenly bad-mouthing every single band on Warped and he didn't think it would be good for their careers if it got out that there was more than one asshole in the band.

He could grit his teeth through one lunch. It wouldn't kill him. Everything else aside, he liked Travis, the way he liked everyone Bill became smitten with. That was a pain in the ass.

He hoped the lunch would fall within Travis' narrow window of sobriety.

Travis was standing outside the restaurant when he showed up. Mike said, "Hey."

"Hey," Travis said. "Thought Bill was coming with you. Or is he catching up?"

Mike shrugged. "Haven't seen him."

"Oh," Travis said. "Well, c'mon and if his lazy ass wants to join us he can."

"I don't think he's showing up," Mike said.

Travis looked at him. Mike felt himself being appraised, considered with Travis' razor-sharp judgment. "Think that might be because of you?"

"Yeah," Mike said. "Pretty sure."

"I don't want to be your stand-in," Travis said.

"What?"

"I don't want to be the stand-in while Bill works out whatever shit happened with the both of you. I'm not gonna…" Travis considered. "I've got enough shit in my life without having to be someone's play-relationship too."

"What am I going to say to him?" Mike said. "He does whatever the fuck he wants."

"You could start by saying _something_ ," Travis said. "And if he were here I'd tell him the same thing."

"Everything's fucked," Mike said.

Travis shook his head. "Not yet. Just don't let it go that far, you know?"

*****

Right before the tour ended Mike sat up playing video games all night waiting for Bill to stagger in. He hadn't planned anything out, because he was shitty at that, but the fear of losing Bill and the band forever was greater than any fear of public speaking.

Bill finally crashed in, more hungover than drunk by the looks of things. He looked at Mike and then immediately headed towards the bunks.

"Bill," Mike said.

"I'm tired," Bill snapped and disappeared. Mike put the controller down and followed him.

He got into the bunk area just in time to see Bill's skinny ankles sliding under the curtain. He said, "Bill."

There was rustling overhead; Butcher poked his face out of the bunk. He looked at Mike and then at Bill's bunk and said, "Well, I've got some very important porn to watch," and clambered out, heading for the front lounge in his socks and underwear.

"I think I also have porn to watch," Siska said and shoved himself out of his bunk.

Mike sat on the floor next to Bill's bunk. He heard one more rustle; Tom poked his head out and looked at him. Mike stared back silently. It took a minute but then Tom got out of the bunk and headed out.

"William," Mike said.

"Go away," Bill said muffledly.

"If you don't want to talk to me, I don't care," Mike said. "I'm not gonna leave though."

He sat for a few long minutes. Bill's breathing was harsh.

Finally Bill pulled back the curtain. "What," he said.

"I wanted to tell you that you were right," Mike said. "We really fucked things up."

"You wanted to tell me that I was right?"

"Totally right."

"Travis is mad at me," Bill said. "Everyone's mad at me."

"Because you've been acting like a jerk this whole tour."

"I _know_ ," Bill said. "I didn't want to. Everything got to be too much, and I broke it and now I don't know how to fix it. I can't fix this." He started to pull the curtain closed again.

Mike put his hand out to stop the curtain swooshing closed. "I was kind of a fucking asshole, too, right?"

"You're always an asshole," Bill said. He sniffed. "And I missed you."

"Yeah, me too."

"What do we do, Carden?" Bill said. "What do we do now?"

Mike crawled into the bunk with him. It smelled like feet and alcohol. "Tour's over. We need to go back home."

"I don't want to leave this way."

"Maybe you can send out apology cards from Hallmark and shit."

"Sorry for being a drunken lout," Bill said. "I just…I break _everything_."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"I can't help it."

Mike pushed his hair away from his eyes. "Think we can fix it? Together?"

"I don't know where to start."

"I don't know," Mike said. "I think you and me is a good place to start. A little late, but what the hell."

"Yeah."

"I'll work on it if you do," Mike said.

"You and me," Bill said. "I don't know, Carden, that's always the place I start out from. With you and me."

"Yeah," Mike said. He pressed his lips to Bill's forehead. "Yeah, me too."


End file.
